"Not long ago he talked with me about it. 'Father,' he said, 'is it not a deadly shame for you, and for me? Give her up!' He meant you," explained Silan, and smiled. "'Give her up,' he said; 'return to the right path!' 'My dear son,' I said, 'go away if you want to save your skin! I shall tear you to pieces like a rotten rag! There will be nothing left of your great virtue! It's a sorrow to me to think that I'm your father! You puny wretch!' He trembled. 'Father,' he said, 'am I in the wrong?' You are,' I said, 'you whining cur, because you are in my way! You are,' I said, 'because you can't stand up for yourself! You lifeless, rotten carrion! If only,' I said, 'you were strong, one could kill you; but even that isn't possible! One pities you, poor, wretched creature!' He only wept. Oh, Marka! This sort of thing makes one good for nothing. Any one else would—would get their heads out of this noose as soon as possible, but we are in it, and we shall perhaps tighten it round each other's necks!"
"What do you mean?" said Marka, looking at him fearfully, as he stood there grim, strong and cold.
"Nothing! If he were to die! That's all. If he were to die— what a good thing it would be! Everything would be straight then! I would give all my land to your family, to make them shut their mouths; and we two might go to Siberia, or somewhere far away. They would ask, 'Who is she?' 'My wife! Do you understand?'
"We could get some sort of paper or document.
We could open a shop somewhere in a village, and live.
And we could expiate our sin before God. We could help other people
to live, and they would help us to appease our consciences.
Isn't that so, Marsha?"
"Yes," said she, with a deep sigh, closing her eyes as if in thought.
They remained silent for a while; the water murmured.
"He is sickly. He will, perhaps, die soon," said Silan after a time.
"Please God it may be soon!" said Marka, as if in prayer, and making the sign of the cross.
The rays of the spring sun broke through the clouds,
and touched the water with rainbow and golden tints.
At the breath of the wind all nature thrilled, quickened, and smiled.
The blue sky between the clouds smiled back at the sun-warmed waters.
The raft, moving on, left the clouds astern.
Gathering in a thick and heavy mass, they hung motionless, and dreaming over the bright river, as if seeking a way to escape from the ardent spring sun, which, rich in color and in joy, seemed the enemy of these symbols of winter tempests.